


Ready or not, here we come.

by SheyRicci



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-11
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29987253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheyRicci/pseuds/SheyRicci
Summary: What's a 'Boss' supposed to do?Just a short story of...nonsense.
Comments: 13
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna catch flack for this….but I'm not enjoying this season. I think anyone who has ever read a story of mine, knows I prefer the team together, unified - not at odds, not emoting, not lying.
> 
> Yes, I know it's a TV show written to explore all aspects and avenues of military careers and life….but…the whole season so far? Just give me ONE episode without disagreements, arguing, fighting, ducking truths, avoiding honesty…ugh.
> 
> Ray is ticking me off, Clay is blah and I watch GH for 'three-some baby in the mix stories'.
> 
> I see Ray being busted and kicked back down in rank….and I'm okay with that.
> 
> Oh, and yeah: YOU PEOPLE AT CBS HAD BETTER GIVE ME BACK MY BLACKBURN!

Tomas A. Dauphin, III sat in the mess hall, eyed the yellow 9x12 envelope sitting next to his plate.

He was both anxious and excited, nervous yet eager to open it, reveal its contents – his orders from the Navy upon successfully completing boot camp.

Everyone from his sour sister to his over-protective paternal grandmother had said he would never make it: He was too skinny, too weak, his eyesight too poor. Well, he'd shown them, shown them all!

The only person in his life who had believed he could do it, encouraged him to do so, was his mother. She was so proud of him. Hell, he was pretty damn proud of himself!

He had graduated school, joined the Navy. Nothing and no one – not the school guidance counselor, the principal, his minister, the recruiter, the doctor had talked him out of it. He'd passed the physical, been accepted and had finally made it through boot camp, where it had been decided he would make a good cook...well away from guns, ammo, rockets. No one wanted him anywhere near heavy artillery.

"Well, you gonna open it?"

How bad could it be? He nodded, picked it up, undid the clasp, opened it, withdrew a single sheet of paper...then just held it, unable to bring himself to read it.

"Well, what does it say? Are you gonna be a cook?"

The guys seated at the table were unlike him in many ways. Confident, athletic, capable and while they were loud and obnoxious, they'd befriended him and helped him through the many difficulties he'd encountered during boot camp. They liked to tease him, but they didn't make fun of him and if anyone tried to bully him, fists flew.

Tomas squinted, quite unused to contacts. "Um...assigned..."

"Lemme see that." The paper transferred hands. "Says...you're to report by the 2nd to the Virginia Beach Naval Base. WOW!"

"Do you know what that means?"

"Uh….Nuh-no."

"Virginia Beach? Dude! That's where SEAL teams operate out of!"

"There's an entire base."

"Yeah, but...it's home to the SEAL platoons."

"You sure?"

"Someone Google it."

"I think...yeah, pretty sure, I've heard rumors. Green Teams train there."

"That'd be Norfolk dumbass."

"No."

"Pretty sure he's right...it's Virginia Beach."

"So, cook on the base?"

"You sure it doesn't say Norfolk? Lemme see it."

Tomas sat and stared blindly at empty air. Virginia Beach? He'd been hoping for an aircraft carrier or submarine where he could hide in the kitchens and never see anyone other than on training maneuvers in case he ever had to abandon ship

"Hey, there's another envelope."

"You didn't see it Tomas?"

"Here, tell us what it says?"

Tomas didn't move, didn't even blink. Everyone waited, the envelope remained unopened.

"Tomas? Want me to open it?"

"You okay dude?"

"Uh...sure." He finally pulled his gaze into focus. "Tell me what it says."

"Holy shit. Oh. My. God. Wait, wait...WAIT! Did you read this? You didn't read...this...HOLY SHIT?!"

"What? What?"

"What's it say?"

The guys around him started chatting excitedly but Tomas sat in a stupefied silence. Boot camp had been hard for him. Oh, not with routine and authority and obedience. Not with yes sir, no sir responses. Not with tidiness, cleanliness, standing at attention all the damn time.

No, it had been the physical activity. So, he was perfectly okay peeling potatoes in the kitchen. Out of sight, out of mind and he really did like to cook. Just, what had his friends so excited? Pete was near to bursting.

"He's assigned to Logistic Specialist duty, under the authority of ensign Lisa Davis, liaison to missions to...SEAL Team Bravo."

"Holy fuck man."

"BRAVO!"

"Thought you were gonna be a cook."

"DUDE! Do you know what this means?"

Tomas shook his head ever so slightly.

"You're gonna work with a SEAL Team!"

"Gonna pack their equipment, arrange to ship it!"

"SEAL teams...freaking awesome man!"

Everyone knew about SEAL's. Their reputations were known by everyone. Stories were told. Rumors were shared. A mention of a mere sighting of one set the entire room into a tizzy. Because they were ghosts. Talked about, but never seen.

"Dude, Bravo's like _thee_ team! Deadliest assault team in the Navy."

"All shooters, dead accuracy."

"Two snipers."

"Their reputation..."

_Thud!_

The table went silent, all looked over to Tomas's chair.

"Tomas?"

Tomas was out cold on the floor.

***000***

Lisa entered the room where Tomas was trying to pack everything she had left on a table into a metal traveling case, shook her head. She had to admit, he didn't quit.

"Take a break." She said cheerfully.

His hands shook but when no one else followed her into the room, he was able to gain control on his nerves, shake his head. He was going to get this.

"Here," She reached for an empty ammo box. "If you sit one sideways, one this way and this one on its side, see how they fit?" She picked up ammo clips. "Then these will fit..."

"This here ain't your job no more Miss Davis."

Tomas gulped, went so pale, Lisa thought he was going to faint. She patted his shoulder, a lame attempt to reassure him, as a group of very large, very confident men with a swagger, entered, single file, until the room was crowded and absorbed all moving air.

He began to shake, shook so hard, Lisa thought he was going to vibrate across the floor.

"Hey you," She stepped around, blocked his view. "You good?"

Bravo? Was this Bravo? All of Bravo? He hadn't yet met any of them, but he'd studied photos and videos and was quite sure he'd seen who he thought might be two or three of them across the yard or cafeteria within the last week and had come to the conclusion that like wolves, they traveled in packs.

Tomas swallowed nervously. Oh. Dear. God. They. Were. All. So. Big!

Here, in the flesh was Jason Hayes. He really did exist! The sheer size of the mysterious, infamous Master Chief, made his ankles knock against his too-big boots. He hadn't really laid eyes on the legend yet - every time someone pointed him out, he'd been going through a door, or across the room, or obscured by the crowd around him - but he knew which one of these men was the 'Bravo Boss'. Attitude, arrogance, confidence shimmered the very air around him.

"You." Eric barked. "Need you to run an errand."

Who, me? Tomas closed his eyes, clutched the table. Oh God, they'd noticed him, were – _gulp_ – talking to him. He swayed. Oh. Dear. God. He was going to faint.

"Tomas?" Lisa nudged him, patted his back, snapped him out of his stupor. "It's okay."

Pulling it together, he managed to make his tongue work. "Ye…es….yes…yes, sir?" He stammered, tongue thick, mouth dry. "M…m…ee, sir?"

"Take a jeep, go into town, 4th and Legion, pick up Clay." Blackburn was holding up a set of keys, was interrupted as everyone began talking at once.

No, not faint. Throw up. His stomach churned. They were loud and demanding. Authoritative. Argumentative. Frightening. Scary. Terrifying. _Fearsome_!

"Blonde hair, blue-eyed, yay-high, can't miss him."

"...look for a woman..."

"…he always finds a female…"

"...scared of 'em though."

"...never shuts up..."

"Bring him straight back here, don't let him out of your sight." Eric ignored the cacophony talking over him. "You hear me? You do not take your eyes off him."

"Ye..ye...yes, sir."

"...Punk-ass kid has a habit..."

"Yeah...you blink and..."

"…like, right before your eyes…."

"...poof, he's gone."

"Swear, that kid got snatched right outta my arms once."

"...just disappears..."

"Now, he don't know you..."

"...might not wanna come with you..."

"...so, to get him in the car..."

"...you bribe him with a milkshake."

"Vanilla."

"...let him pee first."

"...yeah, kid takes one look at you..."

"….a nervous passenger…"

"Tommy..." Eric snapped his fingers until Tomas looked at him and actually saw him.

Relief spilled over him in waves. That was all they wanted him to do?

"Tomas sir. Yes, sir?"

Babysit, he could babysit. How hard could it be to pick up a kid and drive him back to base? Not a job most of his friends would find acceptable, but if it got him away from these men, just tell him where to find the jeep.

"Be on your way, don't dwaddle."

Tomas nodded, took the keys, glanced at Lisa who smiled at him and headed for the door.

"...don't come back without him!"

All the while he drove, the entire drive, Tomas was convinced a prank was being played on him. Tried to figure it out, but when he pulled up to the intersection of 4th and Legion, a woman was waving a greeting from a bench under a tree. She smiled, stood up gestured for him to simply park and remain in the jeep. Tomas pulled to the curb, waved back, left the jeep running, relaxed in the seat, enjoyed the sun.


	2. Chapter 2

Jason had a headache. One of those, 'my head doesn't ache, but hurts when I move it', headaches. The kind where a cough or a sneeze sent pain shooting from behind his right ear. Ugh, they were the worse and took a couple days to go away. He knew from experience aspirin wouldn't touch it, that it was from a combination of not eating enough, not sleeping enough and worrying too much over trivial shit.

Such as his current fucking problem, dilemma – sigh.

The best thing for him to do was find a diner, order roast beef and gravy over white bread with a heaping side of mash potatoes, go home, go to bed, and worry about shit the next day while he worked off his calorie heavy meal.

But no. Nope. Nuh-uh.

Why?

Well, that would be because, a couple of months ago, in a rare moment of weakness, he'd caved and allowed his men to talk him into granting them their fondest wish - the drafting of a young, arrogant, cocky, multi-lingual, hot-shot, crack sniper with the uncanny ability to do complex math in his head who found trouble everywhere, anytime while doing absolutely nothing.

The cause of many sleepless nights, grey hair, addictions to Pepto. Well, jokes on you Bravo Two thru Five - you wanted him, you got him!

Clay-fucking-Spenser.

Hahahaha...watching them deal with the pain-in-the-ass made Jason smug and he just sat back and watched, offered no help, no advice, no guidance.

To be fair though, they never complained. Oh, they teased and joked but like Jason, when Blackburn's superiors had made mention of transferring the kid or allowing another team to take him, they'd revolted. And it hadn't been pretty.

Eh, that was in the past, over and done with. Let it go Jace, he told himself, let it go.

Clay was finally back on base. The skinny chump who looked all of 13 that Davis had taken a shine to after reading some file or report about boot camp graduates - _snort_ \- receiving assignments, had just returned with him and it was time to confront the punk-ass about the latest stupid stunt he'd pulled:

The bet he'd taken.  
Where he'd played daredevil.  
Competing against a sore loser on Charlie, whose boss, had a beef with Jason.  
A fist-fight had ensued.  
Clay had been bitten by a dog.  
Stitches had been required.  
No blame had been placed on the dog.  
Mild antibiotic, pain meds had been prescribed.  
Clay, right on cue, had thrown an allergic reaction.  
Bravo had had to deal with a medicated, fuzzy-headed, wanted-attention, couldn't-be-left-alone rookie.

Only Clay. Shit like that only ever happened to Clay.

Ray and Sonny were behind him as he strode purposely down the hall, disposable cup of coffee in one hand, a file in the other, sharing some bar story from yesteryear, shoving and pushing each other until one of them was knocked into Jason whose pause in step rendered them quiet and bashfully apart.

Behind them was Trent, telling Brock about Janine's desire for yet another kid. Jason didn't understand why. She'd just given birth to her third – but their, at last official count – fifth. Anytime you went to their house, what seemed like a dozen little rug-rats were always running around. She was bat-shit crazy anyway and had somehow decided even numbers were good luck, whatever sense that made. It was beyond him.

Bringing up the rear, were Metal and Eric, discussing scotch versus bourbon, when Jason opened the door to the small, windowless, one-door room Chump-Change had been directed to take Clay to and keep him there.

No windows and one door because only one source of entry equaled no escape.

Barging in, Jason announced both his presence and his displeasure with an air of haughtiness only a trained killer with his skill and experience could pull off.

"Ready or not, here we…!" He tossed the file onto a table, looked around. Oh, fuck me, this was not happening. He rubbed his forehead. Aspirin. He needed aspirin. And vodka. With a side of cheeseburger. "The fuck is this? Where is he?"

Tomas broke out into a sweat. A heavy sweat. Sweat beaded on his forehead, started several rivulets down his face. Was he expected to respond? Did they expect him to speak? He stared, they stared, everyone stared.

Oh, ohohohoh, they did. His throat closed up and all he could do was nod and croak out the single word - sir.

"Sir."

"You reported you were back and had him with you."

"You were told not to let him out of your sight." Sonny stepped forward, arms positioned across his chest in just the way to make his biceps resemble tree trunks.

If Hayes made him sweat and shake, this Texan made him clammy and shivery.

"Sir." He was confused. "Did I...I...did...I bring him to the, uh...ehrm...wrong room?"

"You even say you lost him..." began who Tomas believed was the medic.

"...or couldn't find him..."

"….told you, we shudda sent Cerb with him."

"Not let him out of your sight, means even here on base."

"BOO!" Metal breathed behind Tomas, making him jump and his at-attention stance fell to pieces, causing everyone to laugh.

"At ease Private." Eric said easily. "Guys, knock it off." He normally didn't care or interfere when Bravo made life miserable for someone, but his wife was home in the pool and he very much wanted to join her there and he couldn't do that, until he'd settled this latest dust-up with his team's youngest member.

"Wasn't too hard was it?" Brock asked as Cerberus wandered around the room. "You didn't get lost, did you?"

"Did you even go?" Metal cracked dryly.

"Sirs?"

"Your job," Jason turned in circles. "Was to go get him, bring him back. Where he is?"

"You remember, don't you? The errand you were sent on." Ray added. "Retrieve and return with Clay."

Tomas was confused. Were they blind? Dense? They were the biggest, baddest, best and they couldn't see what was right in front of them?

"You were supposed to pick Clay up, bring him back."

"Yeah, so where is he?"

"So help me God, I don't deserve this." Jason tossed his empty coffee cup into a trash can. "Can't one thing ever go right?"

"Maybe he hadda hit the head."

"Then skinny-minny here would be with him."

Now Tomas might not like confrontation. He might avoid a skirmish when it was within his power to do so, but he was getting mighty tired of having jokes played on him. How long were they going to let this go on?

"He's right here sir." Tomas straightened his shoulders when they either didn't hear him or chose to ignore him. "Sir?" Oddly, he was finding, he did not like being ignored. He had to repeat himself FIVE times, before anyone paid him any attention. "SIRS!"

"What?"

"Where?"

"Who is?

"Clay?"

"Where?"

"He's here, sir."

"Here? Where's here?"

"Here, here?"

"This room here?"

"I don't see him."

Tomas pointed a shaky finger, but his voice was strong. "Right there."

Seven heads swiveled. Seven pairs of eyes squinted...at the...small, blonde haired, blue-eyed boy sitting at a table eating cookies with a vanilla milkshake. He waved, chocolate smeared on both corners of his mouth.

"There?"

"Yes sir, there." Tomas was still pointing. "Right there, sir."

"Where's right there?"

"Right there where?"

"Who's right there?"

"Where?"

"There."

"Where there?"

"What is that?"

"Him?"

"Him, sir."

"That ain't no him."

"Who's he?"

"Not him."

"Where'd he come from?"

"No."

"Who the fuck is that?"

"Clay sir, you sent me to pick him up."

" ** _DAVIS_** _!_ " bellowed seven out-raged voices.

"Clay? Him? No...no..."

"Yeah, memmbe twenty-some years ago."

"...this isn't happening."

"Not Again."

"...here? Not here...no."

"...it can't be...no."

Tomas frowned. He'd done as he was told. Taken the jeep, driven to 4th and Legion and picked up the blonde-haired, blue-eyed, yay-high boy who had been with a woman. He'd returned to base and had not once, let the boy out of his sight. What had he done wrong?

Chaos continued to spiral out of control around him. Everyone was talking at once but no one approached the boy sitting at the table, who surprisingly remained calm despite the language and raised voices all around him. Whichever of these men was the father, the boy was used to such behavior and Tomas found that completely unacceptable.

Tomas didn't think he ever had gotten angry in his life. He usually buried his head in the sand and just let whoever do whatever and moved on. But now...now, his gut was burning and the warmth was spreading...this was anger, it was building and it was going to erupt.


	3. Chapter 3

"NOW JUST A MINUTE!" He yelled, surprising himself so much so, he didn't even notice everyone fell quiet. "I did EXACTLY what YOU told me to do! I took a jeep. I drove it to 4th and Legion. I retrieved your blonde-haired, blue-eyed, yay-high kid, returned to base and kept him within my sight until you arrived." With a wild, uncoordinated flourish of madly waving hands and arms - the best Kermit imitation ever seen - he finished with an extravagant, "TAH-DAH!" complete with a foot stomp.

"What?"

"Him? Who's him?"

"Say, hey, huh?"

"You know what he's yammering on about?"

"No idea."

"What did you do?"

"Who is that?"

"That kid?"

"That kid ain't ours."

"Metal, you behind this?"

"Good God, we abducted someone's kid!"

"I need a drink.

"Pepto, anyone?"

"Did you do this?"

"You stole someone's kid?"

"Where's our kid?"

Tomas was confused. Ours? Our kid? The hell did that mean? Had he mixed up someone's kids? Oh God..Oh God..Oh God. He had. His life was over.

"So...if we got him...who's got ours?"

"That's not our kid."

"Blackburn, what happens, some hysterical momma calls 911?"

"HE'S RIGHT THERE!" Tomas exploded, hands flying again in demonstration. He pointed, motioned, made shapes. "RIGHT THERE! SEE? YOU SEE? HOW CAN YOU NOT SEE HIM?"

Sonny broke into a slow grin, pushed his cowboy hat back, applauded. "Yeah, but...that ain't our kid." He paused, added in his best Miss Piggy voice, "Ker-mee."

Tomas went white, couldn't breathe. Great, so he wasn't the only one who thought he looked like a freaked-out green Muppet.

"What?" He looked at the boy who waved back. "Not your kid? Then whose kid is he?"

"You tell us Sherlock."

"Yeah, you stole _him_."

"How old is he anyway?"

"Quite calm, being kidnapped and all."

"No one's been kidnapped."

"And where's ours?"

"He's out there, lost..."

"Running around, looking for us..."

"...who you think he went with?

"...you think someone has him?"

"...he's not to supposed to go anywhere with strangers."

"…so, he's alone?"

"...you sent a stranger after him."

"Tommy here, works for the team..."

Vision greying from lack of air, Tomas raised a hand, interjected, "Tomas, sir."

"Yeah but, Clay don't know that."

Eric took pity on Tomas who was either going to pee his pants or collapse to the floor in a dead faint. "Most likely this boy belongs to some sailor on base."

Thomas could not stop shaking. God, the way everyone was looking at him, why didn't the floor just open up and swallow him?

Oh God, Dear Lord, he'd lost the son of Bravo's Master Chief on his first 'official' day serving the team. He was going to die; beaten to death, hung upside down until blood pooled and his head exploded, heart attack, embarrassment, humiliation, suffocation. He was done, cooked, fried, drowned. He'd kidnapped, stolen someone's son. He was going to be arrested, go to jail...

"Hey now." Brock slapped Tomas on the back. It was meant to be a friendly pat to reassure the kid who couldn't be a day over 18, that all was well, but it knocked him forward and Trent had to catch him to keep him on his feet.

"You guys!" Lisa's voice rang out. "Stop it!" she took Tomas from Trent's bruising grip. "They're teasing you." She glanced at the boy at the table, frowned. "What, uh, who is that?"

"It's a boy Davis."

"I see that Sonny."

"We abducted him."

"You did what?"

"Dunno, ask your wonder boy over there."

Rendered mute, Tomas frantically shook his head until he was so dizzy, he nearly took Lisa to the floor. She only kep her feet because Sonny caught her.

"Thought it'd be fun, bring the wrong kid back, you know?"

"See if we could cause an Amber Alert, 'cause, hey why not?"

"You know us, we get bored."

"Guys!" Eric warned.

"We sent Thomas here, to..."

"Tomas, sir."

"To pick up Clay."

"Tommy came back..."

"Sir, it's Tomas."

"...with this kid..."

"Hi," the boy smiled, waved.

Her eyes widened. "You kidnapped a kid?"

Sonny scowled. "No."

"Do you know who he is?"

"No."

"Does he belong here?"

"Don't think so."

"Does anyone know where he is?"

"Doubt it."

"Who he is?"

"Never saw him before."

"Then you KIDNAPPED a kid!"

"Don't say it like that." Metal huffed. "What you gotta say it like that?"

"Because," She uttered through clenched teeth. "That's not Clay." Though, it did look look like him a bit.

"Duh, we know that!"

Ray snapped his fingers in a 'aha, I got it' moment. "Curls, you should have told him our kid had curls."

Tomas started to hyperventilate, looked so miserable, Lisa pushed him into a chair.

"Stop." Lisa clapped her hands. "Tomas, relax, deep breaths! Trent, do something before he passes out."

"Why me?"

"The medic badge on your arm?"

"Give him a paper bag."

"Blackburn? You're letting this go on?"

"Wasn't a hard job to get done Davis."

"It's his first day! He's never seen Cl...oh!"

"Put his head between his knees." Trent relented when she had to stop the goober from toppling off the chair. "Even you know to do that." The last thing he needed was a cracked open head and blood all over the floor. Not now, when they had no idea where Clay was.

She squatted down. "Tomas, they're teasing you. Hey, listen to me. Clay...our Clay...their kid, the one you were sent to pick up...is 26 years old."

"Yeah, but...Davis...we stole a kid!"

"Yeah Davis, what are you gonna do about that?"

"Gotta give him back….to, uh, someone, somehow, right?"

"Me? Why is this on me?"

"Tommy here, is yours, ain't he?"

"Pfft, Clay's a grown man." Lisa scoffed. "What could possibly happen?"

Six of the world's deadliest men and their team Commander went silent. The air stilled. The earth stopped moving.

No windows and one door equaling no escape didn't matter when its expected occupant had never been in it in the first place.

The world's best, top trained six 'men' bolted as one. Hot on their heels, was their Lt. Commander.

Lisa looked at Tomas, held her hands up, shrugged with a sheepish look - bolted.

"Wait!" Tomas wailed desperately. "WAIT! What do I do? I mean...what about….him?" but no one returned. He looked at the small boy who beamed brightly then did what all men did when they couldn't figure out what to do. "Hello, Mom?"

***000***

Their usual hang-out, where they were known by every member of the staff, was crowded for a Tuesday night, but the music was lower than usual. A request made by Jason and granted by the bartender.

His chosen treatment of aspirin, vodka and a cheeseburger had reduced his headache to a tolerable throb and he was enjoying sprawling back, watching his men shoot pool, play darts, take turns on the pinball machine.

Why couldn't every night be like this?

If he were honest, the main reason his headache had eased was...and he would only ever admit it to himself….he finally had that fucking blonde menace within his sight and he wasn't about to let him out of it any time soon. Clay hadn't yet been told, but he was going home with Jason and would remain there, no matter how many new shoes Jason had to buy his daughter - the price she charged to babysit - until he could sleep through the night without visions of some crazy lunatic wielding a sledgehammer having the kid held captive in their home.

What the hell else was he supposed to do?

When Bravo had bolted from the base, piled into his pick-up and raced to 4th and Legion, Clay had been sitting in the grass under the shade of an oak tree, sharing lemonade with a bunch of girl-scouts who were selling cookies, waiting to be picked up.

He'd stayed put until someone arrived to pick him up, just like he'd been told – ordered – to do. Oblivious to the issue of the kidnapped kid and utter panic being experienced by his teammates, he'd smiled, waved, gotten to his feet without due haste, dusted his ass with his palms and walked over to the truck, munching on Samoa cookies.

His nonchalant; 'you're late' while nimbly hopping over the side of the pick-up bed, had infuriated his teammates already riding in the back, and they'd relieved him of his cookies…which had led to the end of his good mood. They'd been late getting him and denied his consolation comfort, he'd turned cross and cranky and had been pretty much uncooperative the rest of the day. It had irked Jason and added a week to the kid's sentence to be served at Jason's house.

It had taken the entire ride back to base for Ray to talk Jason down, because the team boss had wanted to:

A) put Tomas on a slow boat to China.  
B) thrash Clay.  
C) light Davis up for bringing Tomas to the team.  
D) commit insubordination by confronting Blackburn for allowing Lisa to have her way.

But one did not yell at Lisa Davis without consequences and Ray didn't want to deal with the ruckus she'd kick up on top of the one his boss and his rookie currently had on his plate. There was only so much one man could take.

They'd returned to base, dealt with returning the boy to his parents, scattered for a late lunch, called it a day – except Clay who had been restricted to base correcting written tests by Green Team trainees, hence the cranky attitude

"It's just too good to be true…." Ray crooned, "Can't take my eyes off you…."

"Shut up." Now that he was feeling better, had Clay with him, he could admit, there had been no need to panic. The medication Clay had taken had been adjusted and he was no longer taking it anyway. The reaction he'd thrown, had lasted one night and hadn't happened again.

He could even admit – now, anyway – it had been comical, not frightening, when Clay, sleepy-eyed and befuddled, had come out of their sleeping quarters carrying a pillow and dragging a blanket, to curl on the sofa – pretty much in Sonny's lap – because that was 'where everyone' was and 'it was dark' in there, with no memory of doing so the next day, when he'd woken up clear-headed.

"So, never letting him go to the clinic to get stitches out on his own again, eh?" Metal set a fresh beer in front of Jason, sat down. "Even though, you know, we're home on base now."

"Nope."

"Kid got home safely." Ray added.

"Yup."

"Wasn't even upset."

"Good."

"No charges being filed. Explained as a misunderstanding."

"Parents should teach the kid not to get in a car with a stranger."

"There's that." Metal acknowledged. "But….we have Clay and of course, there's a day care right next door to the clinic and they were expecting a soldier in a beige jeep from the base to pick up the kid."

"Just our luck."

Ray nodded. "Seems to go that way, being Clay and all." He scooped up some pretzels. "The odds though, huh?"

"Mmmm."

"Came to tell you, kid's tired, wants to leave." Metal tilted his head in Clay's direction.

"Yup." Jason finished his beer, waved off another. He was driving, so no more than two beers. "Catch ya'll tomorrow." He pushed back from the table, stood up, threw some bills on its surface. "Spenser! Time to go! You're with me."

Clay looked over. Oh-oh. Suddenly, he wasn't so eager to leave anymore.

***END***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been trying to complete another longer story (hang in there L!), but I admit, it's a struggle.


End file.
